Two Tales of a Romance by Accident
by EusYram
Summary: Sometimes even the Dark One's plots don't go according to plan. Once, he made a mistake. Now as Emma Swan fights for the rights to her son, she is drawn to the Dark One for help, but what truth will she discover in the process? Emma's backstory is AU.
1. The Wild Princess

_The Wild Princess_

His sources were getting worried about her. Having said that, his sources were _always_ worried about her.

At first, it was the bronchitis she earned from spending the first night of her life on the side of a highway. His sources told him she would not survive the infection at such an early age, but he hardly worried. If her parents were anything to go by, he knew she would be a fighter. He was right.

Having fought off the bronchitis, she was put into foster care, and his sources grew worried again. She was an orphan, they said, and now she would never even know the comfort of a lifelong adoptive family. Instead, she would be passed from household to household, unable to settle down, unable to sprout roots. They said it was not healthy for a child her age, but he knew it would only make her stronger. Again, he was right.

As she grew older, it seemed he was suddenly getting calls on a weekly basis. _She's changed families for the third time this month, _or _She's gotten into a fight at school, _or _She's tried to run away… again. _Nevertheless, he kept his faith in her.

But then she left foster care. She was eighteen and free for the first time in her life. And, for the first time in _his _life, he had reason to be worried about her. After she left, it took his sources three weeks to track her down again. When they finally found her, she was over two thousand miles away, in Phoenix, Arizona. What brought her to Phoenix, they could not tell, and the only reason they were able to locate her was because she was briefly admitted to a hospital there. With alcohol poisoning.

Following that particular news, he asked his sources not to let her out of their sights, but the phone calls he began to receive nearly every day afterward only confirmed his suspicions. Seemingly, the freedom had gone to her head. Everything she did not get the chance to experience while she was in foster care, she wanted to experience now, but it was too much in too short a time. They said they feared she would not live into her twenties if she kept up her current lifestyle. They called her a wild child.

He continued to dismiss their fears as baseless; he continued to keep his faith in her. But when she ended up in the hospital a second time, now due to drug overdose, he decided he had to see the girl for himself. Not that he cared about her. It would have just been a little silly if _the saviour _partied herself to death. He did not even plan on establishing contact - just wanted to observe her for an evening and decide on the manner in which best to manipulate her to get her life back on track.

A "please" and an airplane flight later, he had arrived in Phoenix. It was 85 degrees Fahrenheit outside and he felt as if the sun was going to bake him inside his ebony-black suit. There were cacti around the airport and decorative palms sprawled their great leaves throughout the city. He suddenly wished he were back in the cold wetness of Storybrooke, Maine. That town may have been a prison, but at least it reminded him somewhat of home. Nevertheless, he decided to suffer through the weather and get on with the job ahead.

His sources had given him the address of a dance club which the girl liked to frequent every Friday night. The club was located in the basement of a respectable hotel in the heart of the city, where he booked himself a room for convenience's sake. After having checked in and deposited his luggage, he had a light dinner, played a few rounds of pool, and at nine o'clock headed down to the club.

The bouncer at the door, a man easily three times his size, looked him up and down, taking in first his suit, then his cane, and finally his age, and then his suit and his cane again, until the latter swiftly pulled a couple of hundred dollar bills from his chest pocket and slipped them into the bouncer's hand. He was then let into the club unhindered.

He stuck out like a sore thumb. A sore thumb in a suit, carrying a cane. People stared. The flashing lights and loud music only lessened his enjoyment of the situation, so he quickly retreated to the bar and ordered himself a dirty martini. Now all there was to do was to wait.

When the girl walked through the door, he recognized her immediately. _She looked so much like her mother. _All of her but the hair. That was closer in colour to Charming's, and fell about her face and shoulders in soft heavy curls. She was not as beautiful as her mother. Or maybe she was. Just a different, fiercer beauty which made you look twice before you truly saw it. She wore black leggings, black flats, and a short mahogany-red dress with buttons at the front. She wore no makeup, which only accentuated how young she was. Not innocent, but young. She must have used a fake ID to get into the club.

There was a boy on her arm. He saw the boy slip something into her hand and she swallow it enthusiastically. He frowned and sipped at his martini.

She danced with her arms above her head, making him chuckle to himself. Her movements took up so much space that the boy stood to the side, unsure of what to do. In fact, she ditched the boy after a while. Danced by herself for a bit. Then she found another boy and made him buy her a drink. She did not seem to notice the man at the bar with the martini.

This new boy was clingy. He did not let her dance by herself, and was constantly trying to put his hands where he should not. She slid his hands down or up to her waist, half-laughing, though her brows were furrowed. Eventually, she lost patience and pushed the boy away. He did not react well. He grabbed her by the wrists and shook her, while her face grew more and more infuriated. Behind her, her silent observer got up from his stool, his cane gripped firmly in his hands, the snakelike slits which were his eyes fixed firmly on the boy. The boy gave him a wary glance, let go of her, and left. She never realized why.

He sat back down on his barstool, his pulse a little quickened. _Why did he do that? _To come so close to revealing himself, and for what? He swallowed about a third of his martini.

The night continued in pretty much the same manner. The princess would seduce a boy into buying her a drink, dance with him for a bit, and then send him away and dance by herself. Then five minutes later she would have yet another boy pinned to the wall with her tongue down his throat. Her silent observer developed an intense and inexplicable desire to dismember these boys limb by limb.

The seductress had retreated to the bathroom in one of the escape tactics she used to get rid of a boy. He knew she would be out in a few minutes, so he turned partway back to the bar to finish his martini. Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him. Hot breath on the back of his neck. He turned around, and sure enough there was the princess sitting on the stool beside him.

"May I help you?" he asked in the tone of a person who did not wish to help anyone.

"I should be asking you the same thing, mister," she replied with a cocky smile, "considering you've been staring at me all night."

He made a face like he was about to vehemently deny her accusation, but she intercepted.

"You didn't think I'd notice? I notice _everything._ But it's alright. I like older men."

He smiled. Smirked, really. If she knew _how _much older, she surely would not be saying that. "Sorry, dearie, but I'm not interested."

She looked at him shrewdly for a few seconds, then grinned. "You can't lie to me, mister."

But he was _not _lying, was he? _God, she looked so pretty when she smiled._

"Why aren't you dancing?" she asked out of nowhere.

He laughed out loud, then lifted up his cane.

"So why come to a dance club if you aren't gonna dance?"

He pointed at the closest speaker. "I like the music," he said, trying not to cringe.

"Again with the lying!" she cried out, her eyes flashing. _Again with the smile, _he thought. "I think you're just lonely," she said, and suddenly her hands were holding one of his in his lap. "It's okay. I'm lonely, too."

He hoped she had not noticed his eyes grow wide at the unexpected contact. Her hands were soft and her skin silky, but her grip was firm and genuine. They felt so warm there, her hands in his lap. _He couldn't do this - She was too young - She was the saviour, for God's sake!_ So why did he want her so badly? _Belle. _She must have reminded him of Belle. Belle was only a few years older than this wild child when he met her. She was selfless, too, and so was the little princess in front of him, what with having protected the underdogs at school from the bullies. Then again, Belle had been so innocent when they first met, but the girl in front of him was far from it. One look into her stormy eyes could tell you she had been through more pain in the first eighteen years of her life than most people had in their entire lifetimes. He could relate to the pain. Belle would never have understood, but she could. He wanted to squeeze her hands and tell her it was alright, that he was destined for greatness, but a boy suddenly showed up at her side, one of the half a dozen nameless boys she had used that night.

"There you are, baby," he said to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"And I told you to get lost," she snapped without looking up at him.

The boy scowled, but left her alone nevertheless.

"You don't seem that 'lonely' to me," the man beside her accused with a notable bitterness in his voice.

"Why? Because of _him? _Trust me, he's one of a type who's only good for one thing. He's just a boy. He hasn't learned how to love yet. What _I_ want is a man."

"Give him a few years and he'll be one."

"I don't think I can wait that long," she said pointedly, squeezing his hand. Then, "Are you staying at the hotel?"

"Yes," he replied without thinking. His eyes widened again. _Why would he tell her that? _But it was too late. She had leaned forward and her lips brushed ever so lightly against his. He sought to kiss her back, but by that that time she had pulled away. She now surveyed him smugly with _that smile _on her face. He began to protest her teasing him, but suddenly her mouth was against his. He inhaled a lungful of her breath, which tasted like alcohol but was laced with something undeniably sweet. She had caught him off guard, and he felt a hint of anger at her for it, but the anger did not last for now she no longer pulled away and he could kiss her back as much as he wanted. Her hands travelled from his lap to the back of his neck, bringing him closer. _His_ hand, the one not holding the cane, was placed gently on her waist. Her pale hair was draped around his face; it smelled like her, the smell he wished he could drown in. Her lips were soft, but her tongue was softer. She slid off the stool and was suddenly so close he could feel the warmth of her body against his own. She sat down in his lap, straddling him, wrapping her arms around him until he -

"Stop - stop -" he gasped as she kissed his neck. She fixed him with a look of utter disappointment, so hurt, so irresistible. "_Not here,_" he stated firmly.

* * *

><p>She moved over him like an angel who had just lost her wings.<p>

When they had first stumbled into the hotel room, he had tried to resist her yet again, saying his leg was lame, he couldn't do it. Then she pushed him back onto the bed and told him to lie very still and not make a move.

And now she moved over him like an angel who had just lost her wings, and he could not make a move if he wanted to.

He did not touch her. He did not want to. Or rather, he did more than anything, but was afraid his touch would spoil her somehow. Or maybe he did not deem himself worthy of touching her.

The lights were off in the room, but there was plenty of moonlight falling through the large window behind her. She was silhouetted in the light; her entire body looked like it was surrounded by a platinum halo. And her hair. Her hair was a silver sea of cascading fire. She looked like a goddamned _goddess. _The goddess of moonlight.

He was afraid to touch her, but he was always seeking to kiss her. She knew it, of course, and God, did she ever use it against him. Every once in a while, she would fold her body over his and let him drown in the sea of her sweet-smelling silver hair. Her lips would collide with his so softly he could hardly feel them, and when he would raise his head to catch them, she would pull away with the grace of a tree straightening out after a gust of wind. She would look down at him then, smiling, so self-satisfied, and he would scowl up at her. So she would laugh and come back down and kiss him on the mouth and then _everywhere else._

In the mess of their lust and passion, he had not thought about using protection until it was far too late. Only after the deed was done and they lay quietly side by side did the thought cross his mind. Nevertheless, he knew the chances were low. Besides, if she needed him to wear protection, she would have asked him to. She must have been on the pill. Of course, that had to be it.

She lay on her side, turned away from him. There was a few inches of distance between them because he was still afraid to get close to her. Her sheet was pulled over her chest, but her back was exposed down to the small of it. Her skin looked smooth as a rose petal and was almost luminescent in the moonlight. He wanted to run his fingers up and down her spine, make her shudder in pleasure at the roughness of his touch, but he knew he could not.

She shivered, and he realized with a reasonable amount of guilt she was cold. Finally, he had a reason to touch her. He pulled himself up to her side, feeling her chilly legs collide with his warm ones, then, holding his breath and he did not know why, he gingerly slipped his hand over her waist, under her sheet, and pulled her in close. Her back collided with his chest, her skin so terribly cold. He pushed his other hand under her neck and pulled her closer still, until her head was resting on his shoulder. Then he wrapped both arms around her chest and crossed his legs with her frigid ones. She hugged one of his arms to her body. He could not see her face, but he imagined she was smiling.

* * *

><p>When he woke up in the morning, she was sleeping with her head on his chest. It was early; the clock on the bedside table read only 7:15 AM. There was no more moonlight now, just warm, soft sunlight peering in through the window. The tranquility and near perfection of the scene forced a wave of panic to wash over him. He made as to get up, but remembered the princess sleeping so peacefully and reproachfully beside him. As carefully as if she were an infant, he slipped out from underneath her and out of bed, supporting her head in his hand for a moment before placing a pillow underneath it. She groaned and stirred slightly, but did not wake.<p>

He went to the window. Smashing his hands onto the sill, he leaned over it, breathing heavily. _What had he done? _He felt cold beads of sweat begin to form across his forehead as he thought about the consequences of his weakness in the face of temptation. _What a coward, _he thought, _too afraid to say no, too afraid to hurt Her Highness._ And now ten years later when fate would bring her to Storybrooke, he would have to leave. If she saw him there, if she recognized him, her illusion of free will would be broken, and she would never break the curse unless she knew she had a choice not to. The mistake was his, and now so was the price to pay.

He closed the blinds so the light would not wake her. He dressed in the twilight, picking up his clothes from around the room. He could not find his tie. He searched under the sheets on the bed for it, and his hand landed on her pair of underwear. Silly, frilly little thing. He bunched it up into his fist and smelled it, then stuffed it into his chest pocket. He decided to forget about his tie. He turned toward the door.

Pausing in the doorway, he looked back at her for a moment. She was still asleep, not knowing who he was, never to find out. He realized then this was the last time he would ever see her, and that thought felt like torture to him, though he did not know why. He walked back from the door and approached the bed one final time. He bent over her and brushed the blond hair from her eyes. Then he kissed her lips.

"Goodbye, little princess," he whispered.

She smiled in her sleep.

He left.

* * *

><p>Three months later, his sources told him she was pregnant. He must have sat in speechless horror for a good ten minutes after being told. Of all the things he had done to the poor girl, the last thing he wanted to do was burden her with a child. There was <em>one <em>good news in that phone call, however. It appeared she did not know who the father was. Or rather, she knew who he was and the night she got pregnant, but she had been so intoxicated, she did not remember what he _looked _like. That information made him happier than he dared to admit. He would see her again after all. In fact, when she and the child arrived ten years from now, he may even become close to them. Then someday he could find it in himself to tell her the truth, and she may even forgive him. And then he might have a family again.

Her pregnancy also answered a mystery which began puzzling his sources and he shortly after the encounter at the dance club. Exactly three weeks following their night together, she suddenly stopped visiting the club. His sources were reasonably panicked by her inexplicable vanishing off the grid. It took them two weeks to locate her again, and to everyone's surprise, they found her working at a local diner. She looked happy and healthy, they told him. He liked to imagine it was something he said or done to her that made her want to get her life back together, but he knew better. It was evident now he knew nothing at all.

During the time of her pregnancy, she truly did become more responsible. She worked a steady job, began renting an apartment in a respectable part of the city, and quit the drugs and alcohol. He was proud of her, to say the least, and there was a certain energy to his step as he walked around town. But then she got into a spot of trouble. He knew it was not her fault. The crime was minor and the jail time insignificant. The problem was she was due to deliver that same month.

He learned she had given birth in prison to a healthy baby boy. Then he learned the baby was put up for adoption.

He never thought he would be so devastated by the prospect of never getting to know his son. He genuinely considered adopting the boy himself, but he knew he could not. Such an uncharacteristic act was sure to raise suspicion from Her Majesty.

He had to admit Regina was the one to thank for the answer which finally came to him. Ever since the curse was enacted, he could see she was not happy in Storybrooke. Not even seeing all her most hated enemies in eternal misery could fill the void of loneliness inside her heart. She would never admit it, but he knew. He teased her a few weeks earlier, telling her she should adopt a child and then she would have somebody new to abuse. She laughed it off, but he could see in her eyes the idea had made an impact.

He now came to her with a deal and an offer to obtain her the boy. Take it or leave it, he said. She stared at him hatefully for a few seconds, then broke. Of course she would have the boy.

He was good with legal trivialities, always had been, so arranging the adoption was hardly a challenge. He only saw the boy once before he disappeared into Regina's clutches, and the worst part was he could not even risk showing him a spot of affection. Undeniably, he felt guilty about sending him into the dragon's den. He knew the boy would not grow up happy. However, he also knew that when his mother would arrive and find out Regina had him, her animosity toward Regina would be instantaneous. Besides, he would always be close. He could keep Regina in check if she got out of hand toward him. Secretly, he would always be there to protect him.

As Henry grew older, he developed a fantastic imagination, but he was a little lost for meaning living with a "mother" like his. His father chose to take advantage of one and provide the other when he sold the storybook to Mary Margaret. The boy figured it all out so quickly. He even realized the Emma in his book was his true mother. And when he found her and brought her to Storybrooke, even his father was impressed beyond words.

She looked twice as fiercely beautiful as she did when he first met her, and just as wild. He made sure she did not catch him staring at her when she smiled. It was evident when they met the second time she truly did not remember who he was. A part of him was thankful; a part of him wished she did.

Now he would watch them walk through town together. His family, so unattainable. They never saw him watching them from the other side of the road. They looked so happy. He wished he could be happy with them. He wished he could take Henry for a hike in the forest, show him how to fish. But most of all he wished he could carry through his revenge on the wild princess, make her pay for the night she had given him all those years ago. He wanted _her _to lie on the bed, unable to move, while _he _did whatever he pleased to her. _He _wanted to be the one to come in as if to kiss her but pull away at the last moment, so that her stormy eyes would fill with longing and then he could kiss her on the mouth and then _everywhere else. _He wanted to be able to taste her, to smell her again. He wanted a new pair of panties for his collection. The old he still kept in a box hidden deep, _deep _inside his house.

More than anything, though, Mr. Gold wanted to be able to tell Emma Swan he loved her, and hope only that she would not kill him.


	2. The Gentle Punisher

_The Gentle Punisher_

Little did Mr. Gold know, but Emma Swan had kept his tie. She did not know why she kept it, but after she had found it tangled around her wrist the morning after Henry's conception, she could not force herself to get rid of it. It is possible at first she hung on to it because she thought she would see the strange suited man again and would return it to him. When he never returned to the club and she realized he had left her pregnant, she kept it still, perhaps because deep down inside she held on to the hope that one day he would return and they could be a family, or maybe she kept it simply because she needed something to hate as much as she needed something to love. Whatever the reason, the tie was to this day hidden among her few possessions, and it had made its way to Storybrooke.

* * *

><p>She had wanted to keep the baby. She had wanted to get her life back on track and raise the baby herself. She was almost successful.<p>

She was five months pregnant and working as a waitress at a successful diner in Phoenix, Arizona when her manager hired a new fry cook. The boy said he was a college student working to pay his tuition, and he was kind and sweet to her. When she trusted him enough to confess to him that she had been raised in foster care, he told her that he was an orphan, too. Their bond eventually grew into more. They dreamed together about a future in which the world made sense and family lasted forever, and for the first time in her life, she felt like she belonged.

The boy said he needed her. If only she knew what for.

One evening, during the last month of her pregnancy, the diner was understaffed and she closed alone with the manager. He had her replace the boy in the kitchen in the afternoon when the boy had to leave for class. Once the day was done, they cleaned up and the manager sent her home while he stayed behind to count the money. She had a date with the boy that night, but when she arrived at the movie theatre, the boy called her on her cell phone to tell her he would be running a half-hour late. She decided to give him an earful when he finally got there, but in the meantime she sat and waited. The boy arrived forty-five minutes late, his eyes glazed over and his mind clearly elsewhere. He looked at her, but he did not see her. He refused to see her home after the movie.

There were police cars outside her apartment building when she arrived home that night, but she was too furious with the boy to give them much thought. When she entered her room, however, she was arrested.

At the station, she was told an assault had occurred at the diner, and a robbery. The assailant knew about the hidden safe which kept up to a week's worth of deposits, which meant he or she was likely an employee, and, having worked there that night, she was the main suspect.

The assailant used a blunt object to attack the manager from behind - the manager never saw the assailant's face. The assailant struck the manager on the head once to disorient him, and then twice more to incapacitate him.

Crime scene investigators found a bloody rolling pin hidden in her room. The blood was the manager's and the fingerprints were hers.

That is when she knew who had set her up. The boy had a key to her apartment. He had seen her use the rolling pin earlier that day.

No matter how hard she tried to communicate to the officers that she had been set up and who had done it, the blood and fingerprints on the assault weapon were irrefutable.

Her only hope was to emotionally sway the jury to her side. Unfortunately, the persecuting attorney had a similar plan.

Rather than make a case against the expecting mother, the persecution chose to make a case for her unborn child. The attorney asked the jury if they would with peace of mind allow this violent mother to raise her defenseless child. As of now, Child Protective Services had not been involved, and possibly never would be, but the jury knew well enough that if the mother were to go to jail, both her immediate environment and the underlying consequences of jail time would pressure her into giving up the child for adoption.

And so, Storybrooke's saviour was found guilty on charges of robbery and assault.

Meanwhile, the boy quit the diner and skipped town.

Prison both strengthened and broke the young mother-to-be. She was intuitive enough to keep to herself whenever she could and to maintain an air of thick-skinned indifference whenever she could not. She was both patient and firm with her fellow inmates, even the ones who harassed her because of her young age and her protruding belly. She learned to understand and to interact with people whom not many understood or interacted with. She grew stronger, but more distant. In the eleven months she spent in jail, she feared she had forgotten how to love. But she loved. She loved her unborn child, more than she had loved anybody else in her life. She loved him enough to give him the best chance, which was not with her. She had no family, no housing, no job; her savings had been seized and surrendered to the diner as compensation for the stolen amount. She had nothing, nothing to support herself by, nothing to support the child by.

She had, however, some say in what happened to him after he left her. She was adamant that he be adopted rather than put into foster care. If he could not be adopted, she would keep him. But things were out of her hands in this respect, and quickly following the child's birth, a prospective mother made herself known, and not a week later a man came and took the child away on her behalf. The saviour never met the mother nor the man. She did not want to lest she came to regret her decision.

Thus the saviour sealed her fate, and her child's also.

She left prison a changed woman. No longer a girl, but a mature, independent, and self-reliant woman. And she had a mission.

Her mission was neither righteous nor benevolent, but through it she discovered her special skill - finding people.

She found the boy two weeks later, two states away. He was working at a different restaurant now, and she saw him on a date with a wide-eyed, eagerly obedient little flower. That night she went out and bought the weightiest rolling pin she could find.

The next night she picked the lock into his apartment and waited for him to get home.

The boy opened his front door. The boy closed his front door and came face to face with a moonlit she-devil. The she-devil held a chloroformed rag over his nose and mouth.

The first thing the boy was aware of as he slowly came back to himself was that his television was on. He could hear the rattatatatat of machineguns and the distant thuds of shells going off - a war movie. The sound was turned up far too loud. He realized then he was tied uncomfortably to a chair and gagged with a rag damp from his saliva. His eyelids crawled open.

The she-devil sat in a chair in front of him, facing him, within arm's reach of him, the rolling pin on her lap. The television screen was directly behind her, she outlined in the glaring, garish white light of the black-and-white movie. The film was the only light source; the curtains were drawn now against the moonlight. She cast a shadow on him and her face was in darkness. For the longest time she said nothing.

"I'll take the gag off if you promise not to yell."

The boy considered for a moment, then nodded.

"You look good," was the first thing he said.

"You won't," she said, her fingers tightening around the rolling pin handle.

The boy's eyes lingered on her hand. "Listen now," he said hastily. "You were nothing personal. You weren't the first either."

"I'm making sure I'm the last."

The boy smiled nervously at the drawn curtains, at the loud television, at the rolling pin. "Okay, that's cool. Call the cops then. I'll confess to everything."

"And what would be the pleasure in me doing that?"

"_Pleasure?_ My God, Em. How are they even letting you raise a kid?"

"I gave him away," replied the she-devil so quietly the boy could hardly hear her.

"What was that?"

"_I SAID I GAVE HIM AWAY!" _the wild princess screamed, getting to her feet, the rolling pin raised high in the air.

The boy squirmed and cowered in his chair. The princess faltered, lowered her weapon. She sat down and pressed one end of the rolling pin into the boy's chest.

"You'll break up with the girl you're seeing now and quit the job at the restaurant. You'll find a new job in the city. Don't try to run because I'll find you. I'll be keeping an eye on you from now on. Understood?"

The boy, whiter than the actors on his television screen, nodded his agreement.

"I will knock you out with chloroform again, and when you will wake up, you will be untied and I will be gone. Sound good?"

The boy, clearly no longer capable of speech, nodded again.

The she-devil poured some chloroform onto the rag and held it to his nose and mouth. The boy breathed deeply.

* * *

><p>For the first few months, she really did watch the boy. Every once in a while she would let him catch her watching him, too. She had to make sure he made good on his promise, and she did.<p>

Then came the real jobs. Those she enjoyed thoroughly because they kept her mind off the things that tormented her, and soon enough her torments lay dormant as though she had chloroformed them.

They did not wake again until Henry returned into her life.

Now she was presented with the possibility of Henry leaving her life forever and her torments threatened to tear her apart.

* * *

><p>"When I gave up my magic, Miss Swan," Regina was saying, "I did so under the assumption that my son will shortly return to me, not that he will refuse to be with me altogether."<p>

"Regina, you know that's been Henry's choice. Not mine or David's or anyone else's."

"I don't understand why you keep trying to argue with me, Miss Swan. The calls have already been made. They _are_ coming. I think you're forgetting that one of the consequences of your breaking the curse is that outsiders can now enter and leave as they please. And so can Henry."

"So that's it then? You can't have him, so no one can?"

"To the contrary, his foster parents are _delighted_ to have him."

Henry, who had been holding on to the saviour's hand throughout the entire conversation, now fixed the princess with an apprehensive stare.

"Oh, don't worry, Henry," Regina crooned, bending over to look into the boy's face and placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. "You'll only stay there until you _want_ to come home. To your _real_ home."

"You mean home with you," Henry said bitterly.

"Of course. Home with your _mother."_

"Then I'll _never_ come back."

"Don't be silly, Henry. Now upstairs with you and straight to bed. You have an early morning tomorrow."

Henry let go of the saviour's hand reluctantly and ran upstairs. They heard his bedroom door slam shut.

"I won't let you take him," the saviour hissed at the queen.

"And I'm not asking your permission. Besides, what can you possibly do to stop me? I still have custody of Henry and what I am doing is perfectly legal, at least in your world."

"It wouldn't be legal if they knew the truth."

"And what will you tell them, Miss Swan? Will you tell them about magic? Will you tell them about the Enchanted Forest and my being the Evil Queen?"

"I can take Henry -"

"And I will surely call the police. Face it, Miss Swan - you can't do anything to stop me."

"I _will_ think of something."

"You can try. And tell you what: you can come say goodbye to Henry tomorrow morning and tell him all about how you failed. If, of course, you'll have it in you. Seven fifteen sharp, Miss Swan."

And with that, Regina shut the door in the saviour's face.

The saviour stood still a moment, then her brow furrowed and she extended her arm to knock on Regina's door. Her knuckles met a solid force field which sounded an alarm like a cat's yowling.

Regina opened the door. "May I help you?" she asked, smiling smugly.

"What's this crap?" the saviour asked, slamming her palm against the force field.

"A boundary charm," Regina replied. "I don't want you or your degenerate parents trying to kidnap Henry in the night. Now please leave, Miss Swan." Regina shut the door again.

"Regina!" the saviour yelled, slamming her fists against the force field. "Regina, you bitch!" But Her Majesty did not grace the savior with her presence again.

The saviour fumed to Mary Margaret's apartment. She knew Mary Margaret would not be home as she had been spending all her nights at her and David's new house, but she was thankful for it. She was not quite ready to tell her about her consecutive failure. She walked straight past Mary Margaret's building and kept walking, hoping to calm herself into thinking clearly. Taking Henry without Regina's knowing was out of the question - he would be staying at Regina's house until his foster parents arrived to receive him tomorrow morning. Her window was between Henry's leaving the house and Henry's entering the foster parents' car. If she took Henry then, Regina would not dare use magic in front of the outsiders. But she would call the police, and the saviour knew the police would mean trouble. The police would mean jail time. The police would mean a restraining order. The police would mean her possibly never seeing Henry again.

Quite abruptly, the saviour found herself standing in front of the Dark One's door.

She hesitated, then rang the doorbell.

It took several minutes for the Dark One to answer her call. When he opened the door, she got the rare opportunity to see him dishevelled. It was clear she had woken him: his hair was messy and he wore a dress shirt and pants which she could tell he threw on in a hurry. For a moment, his facial expression was that of surprise. Then it relaxed and a familiar smirk curved the corners of his mouth.

"Sheriff Swan! Whatever brings you -"

"She took him and is sending him outside town limits."

The Dark One paused, then moved aside from the doorway and motioned with his hand for her to come in. After taking her coat, he led her into the kitchen and drew a chair from the dining table for her. She sat down.

"Tea? Coffee?" he asked.

She shook her head.

He sat down across the table from her.

"So Regina has taken Henry and plans to send him across the border? How?"

"How did she take him or how does she plan to send him across?"

"Let's start with the first."

"He was meant to spend the evening at her house today, but we agreed she would bring him home by nine o'clock. I gave her a half-hour's leeway when she didn't show up, then tried calling her house, then her cell phone. Finally, I went to her house myself. That's when she told me."

"Where does she plan to send him?"

"He's leaving with foster parents. People she knows from the Internet. They work for Child Protective Services. She told them her life was too unstable for her to raise a child at the moment and asked them to take him temporarily."

"If that's legal, I'm impressed. She can't have him, so no one can."

The saviour scowled, and the Dark One smirked.

"Is she using magic?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And she was doing so good. Now tell me, what is it exactly you expect me to do? If I attempt to engage Regina at her house, Henry could get hurt, you know that."

"I know."

"And you know I can't risk revealing our world by performing magic in front of the outsiders."

"I know."

"You also know I can't challenge Regina's custody of Henry based on your story alone."

"I know."

"And now I find myself asking, if you know I can't help you, what exactly is it that you want from me?"

The saviour paused. She had not thought about this. In fact, she had tried hard not to. Even now, she tried her best to deny the fact that she had come to the last man imaginable for a request unimaginable.

"I want you to punish me," she said.

The Dark One's eyes widened and froze on hers. Clearly, this was not the answer he had expected.

"I'm sorry?" he asked.

"Henry's being taken by strangers and it's entirely my fault. I've been a horrible mother. I can't stand it. I can't stand myself. If you can't do something about it, then I… I will."

The Dark One was for a moment at a loss for a reply. His eyes revealed a struggle between his need to care and his desire not to.

"You know I can never hurt you," he said, forcing a smirk.

She leaned forward, her voice hardly a whisper now. "Then don't make it hurt."

The expression changed in the Dark One's eyes, shifting from contemplation, to realization, to surprise, to apprehension, to excitement. Then it became unreadable. The transition occurred within a split second, but she caught it.

Waiting is the worst part.

Finally, the pawnbroker leaned across the table to her. Her heartbeat in her ears drowned out all other sound, and she dove forward, desperately seeking his mouth. She felt her lips just brush against his, and then he pulled away. Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes snapped open at the shock of rejection. She stared at him watching her across the table, looking pleased with himself as though he had just made a most useful discovery.

"That hurt, didn't it?" he asked, his eyes aflame with the satisfaction of revenge.

"No," she lied.

"Don't assume you're the only one who can tell when someone is lying, my dear. I don't think you're here for punishment at all."

"You don't know me."

"I know you better than you might think."

With that, the pawnbroker got up from his seat and walked around the table toward her, his cane meeting the floor at equal intervals. She got out of her chair and fearlessly met his eyes. They stood gazing at each other, sizing each other up.

"You are cynical, skeptical, and stubborn," the pawnbroker said. "You trust nobody because your trust was betrayed in the past."

"And you are bitter and remorseless," the saviour replied. "And although you don't show it, you hate yourself for it."

The pawnbroker bared his teeth at her. "Then I guess we both deserve some punishment, don't we, dearie?"

"I guess so."

There was no waiting this time.

She grabbed his neck, and with his free hand he took her by the waist and pulled her forward. Their lips collided in a mess and their bodies met, she pressing her hips against his. Her hands travelled down from his neck and got busy, first undoing the buttons on his shirt and then undoing his belt buckle. He freed her of her red leather jacket and she felt herself being pushed down onto the floor. She succumbed, laying down on her back, and he joined her, his face showing his determination to get through the pain as he was forced to get down onto his lame knee. The floor was hard, it was uncomfortable, and she wondered why he had chosen it over a bed or a sofa. But she did not care. She propped herself up on her elbow, fisted the collar of his shirt, and pulled him close, kissing him again, shutting her eyes and savouring the taste of his mouth and the texture of his tongue. She felt his hand slide up her thigh, over her hip, and then travel under her tank top and move over the bare skin of her waist. She moaned at the coarseness of his touch and redirected her lips to his neck, determined to suck a spot into his skin. His hand lingered on her ribs, uncertain, then moved upward to cup and squeeze her breast over her bra. She sat up and helped him rid her of her shirt.

He placed kisses down her collarbone and bit her neck just hard enough to leave small marks after his teeth. "Is this punishment for you?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, and pulled off his shirt.

He was thin under his smooth skin and she ran her tongue over his ribs and his nipples and her hand encouraged his erection over his pants. He undid the zipper on her jeans and his fingers plunged under her panties and slid over her clitoris. She gasped and frantically fought with his pants and briefs until she had pulled them off. He was fully erect now and she teasingly slid her hand once over his pulsing member.

He was not mobile enough with his bad leg to take off her jeans for her, so she had to take them off herself. Next came the bra, which he undid without a hassle. He pushed her back onto her back and kissed her wetly up from her navel to her mouth. The panties slid easily from her smooth legs and he threw them far into the shadows of the kitchen.

She locked her legs around his waist, throbbing with need, but suddenly he caught her right wrist with the handle of his cane and pinned it to the table leg. He caught her left palm with his hand and pinned it to the floor. Her eyebrows furrowed.

"What're you doing?" she asked.

"Nothing at all. Just a little vengeance."

"Vengeance for what -" But he shut her up with a kiss and thrust into her and she did not want to know anymore.

* * *

><p>They lay in his bed on the second floor, he holding her under the covers. Her head rested on his arm and he kept brushing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes, although he had long since brushed it behind her ear. She hoped he would not stop. It felt far too good.<p>

"I'm sorry I didn't bring you up here from the beginning," he said. "I was afraid you would change your mind before we reached the bed."

"I'm glad you didn't. You might've changed your mind first."

"Doubtful," he said, and kissed the back of her head.

She smiled despite herself and for a short moment allowed the possibility that the true reason she had come to the Dark One's house in the dead of night was for comfort.

* * *

><p>She woke when the first rays of sun had fallen across the room because she could have sworn the light had burned her skin. She woke and two things were apparent to her.<p>

Today, Henry would be taken from her.

And for her to get him back would mean her leaving Storybrooke forever.

Regina was brilliant, but she had overlooked one severe flaw in her plan: wherever Henry went, the saviour could follow. She, however, was trapped within the city limits of Storybrooke, and unless her memories were of no value to her, when Henry left town, she would no longer have any direct control over him.

The saviour knew damn well she could find her son no matter where his foster parents took him. She also knew she could take him from them and not get caught. Then it would just be a matter of coming up with false identities and they would be ready to start a new life together, far from Regina's grasp.

But she could not take her parents with her.

Nor her newfound friends.

Not even the pawnbroker sleeping beside her.

She had not noticed the warm tears running down her cheek and over the bridge of her nose and onto his arm. The sensation woke him.

She could tell by his expression that he was not accustomed to comforting others when they cried.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I have to go. I need to say goodbye to my son."

She got out of bed and he followed her as she went to the door.

"I'm sorry about Henry," he said.

She had never heard such sincerity in his voice. If this was to be the last time she would see him, she was glad she could see him like this - standing naked and honest before her. Feeling the unwelcome tears well in her eyes again, she hastily made her way out of the room.

Down the cold hardwood stairs of the Dark One's house. In the kitchen, she put on her clothes. She could not find her underwear, but there was no time to search. She went out into the frosty January morning.

She walked into town with thoughts of Henry's father. Just like tonight, she had lost her underwear on the night of Henry's conception. At the time, she considered the loss an amusing one. Even now, the memory brought a faint smile to her lips. But the smile soon faded. Guilt washed over her instead when she remembered the time Henry had asked about his father, how she had looked him in the eyes and lied. She realized now that she owed him the truth before he was taken from her.

She stopped by Mary Margaret's apartment to pick up her new revolver, her old one having been crushed by the troll in the Enchanted Forest. She did not expect to use the weapon, but she felt much more confident having it on her and right now her confidence was lacking. There was another item which she wished to bring with her, one hidden in a secret compartment at the bottom of a box at the back of her closet. She drew it out and smelled it, but it had long since lost the scent of its original owner.

Regina had taken down the force field protecting her house, so the saviour was able to approach the door and knock. Her Majesty answered, looking unsettlingly chipper.

"Good morning, Miss Swan. Nice of you to join us. Henry has been looking forward to your coming, but personally I wasn't sure you'd show up."

The saviour pushed past the Evil Queen and entered her house. Henry stood in the great empty space where Regina received her guests, wearing a handsome ebony-black suit jacket and pants. He ran to his mother and wrapped his arms around her waist. She held him tightly, running her fingers through his hair, then bent down and placed a kiss at the top of his head.

"Please don't let them take me," he said.

"I can't. You'll have to leave, but just for a little while."

"Will you come and get me?"

"Of course," she whispered. "But for now… just think of it as an opportunity to see the big world, okay?" She held him out at arm's length, her vision watery. She wiped the water away and forced a smile.

"Okay," he said, smiling back.

"I have something for you." She got down on her knee and drew out of her pocket a long, silky mahogany-red tie. "This used to belong to your father."

Henry took the tie into his hands, looking awestruck. _"Whoa._ This used to belong to a real firefighter?"

"Well… no."

Henry's expression turned quizzical.

"Henry, I lied to you. I'm so sorry. You see, your father wasn't a firefighter."

Henry cocked his head to the side, his eyebrows drawing together as he tried to process the gravity of what he was being told. "Who was he then?"

"I… don't know. I don't know who your father is, Henry."

A ringing silence fell onto the room. The saviour shut her eyes and waited for it to be broken.

"What… what do you mean?" Henry finally managed.

"We were together once. I'm sorry."

"Well, what did he look like?"

"I don't remember, Henry. When it happened, I was so drunk. I was other things, too."

Regina snorted from across the room.

The saviour squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and opened her eyes again. "Now you know. Can you ever forgive me for lying?"

To her surprise, Henry responded with a smile. "Of course I forgive you. I don't care who my dad is. All I care about is that I have my mom."

The saviour grinned, shaky, relief flooding her body. "And all I care about is having you," she said, and drew Henry into another hug. "Now how about we try that tie on?"

Seeing as Henry was not wearing a tie already, the saviour fastened his father's tie underneath his collar. She made him take a step back to take in the full effect. Henry smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He looked so handsome, handsome like -

The image shot through her like an executioner's arrow. Henry's father sitting on a barstool beside her, his brown eyes crinkling as he smirked at her. His eyes are Henry's eyes. He was wearing an ebony-black suit and the silk mahogany-red tie. She had just told him she likes older men. "Sorry, dearie, but I'm not interested," he answered. And then she leaned forward as though to kiss him and pulled away at the last moment. And then his taste and his scent came back to her, and the sound of his voice, and they were all the Dark One, the Dark One as she leaned over him on the bed and kissed him at 18, and the Dark One as he pinned her to the floor and kissed her at 29.

She stared at Henry, then blinked rapidly, but the image did not leave her. She sprung to her feet and started at the queen. "You… you knew!"

"Knew what, Miss Swan?"

"Knew that…." The saviour trailed off. Regina could not know. If the Evil Queen knew that Henry is Rumplestiltskin's son, she would not dare lay a finger on him. "Never mind." She turned back to Henry. "Henry, I have to go… for a moment… but I'll be back before you leave, okay?"

Henry look befuddled. "O…kay…."

The Evil Queen snorted again. "I'm sure you will be, Miss Swan."

The saviour sprung at the queen again. "As for _you,_ if he's not here when I get back, I swear to God you'll be leaving this world, and not through a hat, but in a _coffin."_

She left before Regina had the chance to reply.

The bell above the pawnshop door nearly rang off its hook as the door slammed behind the wild princess. The pawnbroker looked up at her from behind his counter. Seeing him now that she knew who he was was harder on her than she had expected. She slumped against the door behind her.

"Sheriff, are you okay?" he asked, no sarcasm or derision in his voice whatsoever.

She took a steadying breath and slowly began making her way toward the counter. "You…." she began, her voice hoarse, her speech uncertain. "You…. It was you…." She reached the counter, but looking into his eyes, her memories now hitting her clearer than ever, she could not speak.

The pawnbroker looked as though he knew what was bothering her. "Did they… did they take your son?"

She now knew why it bothered him, too. _"Our_ son."

There was a silence that threatened to crush them both. His lips moved but the rushing of blood in her ears drowned out the sound: "I'm… I'm sorry?"

"Don't…."

He shut his eyes. "I never thought you'd remember."

"You hoped wrong."

"Never _thought._ Always hoped. What triggered the memory?"

"Seeing our son in your tie."

"You have my tie?"

"I've had it for eleven fucking years."

A small light appeared behind the darkness of his pupils. "You hoped, too, didn't you?"

"Yes," she whispered. "But not for this. Tell me, did you do it on purpose? Did you foresee in your great putting together of the curse that having Henry would bring me to Storybrooke?"

For a moment there was a hurt expression in the pawnbroker's eyes, but then it turned to shame. "I could never do that to you, but I don't blame you for believing I could."

As much as she wanted to doubt him, she knew he was telling the truth. But other questions tore at her chest. "Then why didn't you tell me? Not before I believed, but after I broke the curse?"

"Belle was there -"

"Excuse."

He fell silent, staring at her staring into his soul. When he spoke again, his voice trembled. "I didn't tell you because I was afraid, more than I have ever been afraid of anything in my life, that you would reject me."

She blinked, his answer being far from what she had expected. Her emotions were muddled inside of her and she did not know where to go from here.

"What now?" he asked softly, as if having had read her mind.

And then it hit her. She reached for her revolver, the pawnbroker's eyes widening at the movement. She drew the revolver out of its holster, the pawnbroker remaining motionless, a resigned expression on his face. She raised the weapon. The pawnbroker shut his eyes.

The saviour slammed the weapon onto the counter. "Now we kick Regina's ass."

The pawnbroker released a shuddering breath and opened his eyes. For a long moment he just stared at the revolver lying on the counter in from of him. "I hope you're not planning to use _that_ against her."

"I won't have to if you help me."

"Help you how? We've already discussed this - I can't come forth as your lawyer."

"No. But you can come forth as Henry's father."

"I'm afraid that won't help, Sheriff. We can't fight for combined custody when we're not married or even in a relationship."

"But that's the thing. You won't be fighting for custody - you'll be there as a character witness."

"A… character witness, Sheriff?"

"Yes. You know Regina and her relationship with Henry far better than I do… and you also know me. You can testify against her and in my favour. Better yet, you're Henry's _father,_ which will make you sympathetic to the jury. But the best part of all is that you won't be doing this for me or for yourself - you'll be doing it for _Henry._ You're just a concerned father doing what is best for your son, which is him being with me rather than him being with Regina."

There was a silence in which the pawnbroker appeared to be thinking over her proposal.

"It's my best chance," she urged.

"It's a viable plan, but there's no certainty you'll win. And if you lose, you'll likely end up with a restraining order and lose Henry for good."

"The outcome doesn't matter. All that matters is that she knows I have a fighting chance."

* * *

><p>Outside Mayor Mills' house in Storybrooke, Maine, the pawnbroker and his saviour approached the small group crowded around the strangers' car. The mayor smirked at them from above her dress-shirt collar. "Ah, Miss Swan, I see you've returned. And brought your boyfriend along."<p>

"Miss Mills, a word please," the saviour said. "Bring Henry with you. I don't want him alone with these people."

They went inside the house to talk.

"Please hurry this up, Miss Swan. Henry's foster parents are waiting."

"You might as well tell them to leave. My son's not going anywhere."

Henry's face lit up but the mayor laughed it off. "My my, such confidence! Tell me, is it the gun on your hip or the whipped genie behind you? _My_ son is leaving and he is leaving _now."_

"Then it looks like I'll be seeing you in court."

The mayor laughed louder than ever. "And what can you possibly use to challenge my custody? The biological mother who changed her mind ten years too late. I'll enjoy seeing you go up against me alone."

"I'm afraid she won't be alone, Your Majesty," the pawnbroker said, and took the wild princess by the hand.

Henry gaped. The Evil Queen stared, but she was soon smirking again. "I see. The biological mother and her on again, off again lover with a questionable interest my son. I believe I _will_ see you in court. And I don't plan on seeing either one of you again afterwards."

"My interest in Henry is far from questionable, Your Majesty," the pawnbroker said. "To the contrary, you might even go as far as to say it's biological." He winked at Henry.

"Stop speaking in riddles, Rumple. What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means he's my dad," said Henry.

Three pairs of eyes turned and looked at him.

"How… how did you know?" asked the wild princess.

"Easy," Henry replied, grinning. "This morning you told me you don't remember who my dad is, and then you freaked out and ran away. And now you're back with Rumplestiltskin! And you gave me my dad's tie. Rumplestiltskin always wears a tie, at least in our world. Look! We look the same now! And he's always nice to me. And he gave us walkie-talkies to play with. _And_ he bought me Cinnabon." He walked up to the speechless pawnbroker. "Hi, dad." He hugged him around the waist, the pawnbroker reacting not all at once, first placing his hands gently on his son's shoulders, then tenderly patting his hair. When Henry let go, he went to stand between his parents, holding each by the hand.

Regina's face was contorted in an expression of confusion and outrage. "That's impossible," she hissed. "You'd have had to leave town or she'd have had to come to Storybrooke."

"I left town," the pawnbroker said. "Remember, Your Majesty? I said I was going to look into buying property outside of Storybrooke. You were hesitant about letting me go, but then I said _please."_

"You _found_ her?"

"I had to. I was worried."

"And you fucked her."

"Actually, it was kind of my fault," the wild princess chimed in. _"I_ came on to _him."_

"How romantic," Regina replied. Her voice was thick with sarcasm, but in her eyes was a notable worry as she now faced her opposition. "I'll need to see a paternity test."

"Of course," the pawnbroker said. "I'm sure your lawyer will request one."

"You're going down, Regina," the wild princess said. "You know what kind of testimony we can provide. And if we get Dr. Hopper on board, you won't stand a chance."

"There's still no guarantee you'll win," Regina said.

"No guarantee for you either. Are you ready to risk it?"

"Are you?"

"I will if I have to. I have nothing to lose."

"What's the alternative?"

"I get Henry back. You tell the people outside to leave and never show their faces in Storybrooke again. And then you _work._ And when you've worked hard enough to earn my trust again, and if Henry still wants anything to do with you, we'll go from there."

The Evil Queen glared at the saviour and the saviour glared back. The walls around them and the very floor beneath their feet began to shake and vibrate. A mirror shattered somewhere in the house. The vibration gradually ceased.

The Evil Queen bared her teeth. "This isn't over, _Miss Swan,"_ she snarled.

"Oh, yes, it is," the saviour whispered.

The queen stormed out of the house.

Henry let go of his parents' hands and threw his arms around the saviour. "You did it… mom."

The saviour laughed, overcome by relief, disbelief, and rapture, and held her son close. "Yeah, kid, I guess I did." She glanced over at the pawnbroker. "I couldn't have done it without your dad though."

Henry let go of his mother and hugged his father. "Thanks, dad."

The Dark One's eyes were wide and the saviour could swear he was holding his breath. "Let's go home, kid," she said, fearing that at this rate the pawnbroker might lose consciousness.

"Okay, mom!" Henry said, and sprinted out the door.

The wild princess turned to follow, but at that moment the pawnbroker caught her by the wrist. "Where does this leave us?" he asked.

She stepped toward him until they were only inches apart, then leaned in as if for a kiss. As he sought to catch her lips, she let hers brush against his and then pulled away at the last moment. She smirked as he glared at her.


End file.
